


Upon a Peak in Darien

by jolly_utter



Series: Cut the Sweet Apple [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Lots of dancing, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - F/M/M, and Hand Holding, everyone is bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolly_utter/pseuds/jolly_utter
Summary: Francis considered what to say. “You know that Captain Fitzjames and I became very close over the course of our ordeal. I could not have got through it without him by my side, and I grew to love him—well, almost like a brother.” Sophia’s eyebrows flickered as if she already knew what he was getting at, damn her intuition, but he was determined to get the words out.In which the survivors of the expedition return to England, bisexual Victorians have a lot of feelings, and everyone lives happily ever after.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier, Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: Cut the Sweet Apple [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853548
Comments: 28
Kudos: 95
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Upon a Peak in Darien

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to my wonderful beta reader @MasterofAllImagination, without whom this would not be half the story it is. Thank you for all your hard work on editing this, and for pushing me to become a better writer! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> Written for the Terror Bingo 2019 prompt "voyeurism". I still haven't made a successful bingo, but at least I'm posting this by the deadline!

_Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,  
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;  
Round many western islands have I been  
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold._

Sir Francis Crozier drummed his fingers impatiently on the windowsill of the cab, feeling an odd sense of apprehension mingling with the anticipation of seeing James Fitzjames again. The latter’s invitation to dine had been a welcome one; once the initial tumult of their return had died down and the courts martial concluded, they had scarcely seen one other in weeks. Francis was just returned from Ireland, where he had been visiting his family and setting his affairs in order. The distance he now felt between himself and James, he knew, was a natural result of having to pick up entire lives that had lain abandoned while they were away, but he still disliked the sensation.

As Francis waited for admittance to James’s club, he reflected what a far cry this was from the months during which they had never been more than a hundred yards from each other’s sides. By the end, they had slept every night in the same tent with their bodies tucked so close together that their heartbeats seemed to blend into one. It unnerved him more than he liked to admit not to know where James was at any given moment. He felt lost to Francis amid the million bodies of the great metropolis as he never was in the unmapped ice. 

But Francis, and surely James himself, was familiar with the always-unsettling shift between the disparate parts of their lives as sailors: the exchange of routine tedium, settled roles, limited society, and the dangers of the elements, for the far-greater boredom and anxiety of life of land. 

Then again, perhaps James did not see it that way. He seemed to mould himself seamlessly to whatever situation he found himself in, and Francis admired his adaptability as much as he envied it. As much as Francis feared losing James, he would undoubtedly return to the life of high society that suited him so well, and go on to higher glories and new adventures. He might even marry, now that he surely had enough fame and fortune to balance out the circumstances of his birth. 

Francis was so engrossed in these ruminations that he scarcely knew what to say upon being shown into the visitor’s room. James greeted him with a broad smile and enthusiastically clasped Francis’s hand in both his own. It was still a shock to see him looking as polished and perfectly coiffed as he had been at the start of the voyage. His face was more haggard, his hair now held a distinguished streak of grey, and his limbs were thinner, but it was too much like talking to a stranger.

Over dinner, they chatted about their recent doings, and what news they possessed of their former shipmates since their return. From there, the conversation naturally turned to Lady Jane Franklin’s re-emergence into society. Francis had not seen her since the solemn, awkward interview in which he and James endeavoured to give an account of their commander’s end that was both moderately truthful and reasonably comforting. Miss Cracroft had been there too, pale but steady at her aunt’s side. She and Francis had exchanged letters since, on friendly but general topics.

“I hear Lady Jane is planning a biography of Sir John,” James was saying, “and is raising funds for a statue as well—a memorial to all lost on the expedition.”

Francis inclined his head. “A fine gesture,” he said, hating the feeling that they were acting out a scene, saying the polite things that were expected of them. No one was really listening, but the murmur of other conversations and the genteel clinking of silverware and glass made Francis acutely aware that they were not in the solitude of one of their great cabins, where they had been able to speak frankly to one another. Where, between the aftermath of Carnivale and the preparations for walking out, the lingering tension between them had finally found its outlet in fierce and tender passion. 

Francis took the opportunity to watch James as he spoke to the waiter for a moment, trying to reconcile the man before him, his pristine linen and perfect poise, with the memory of him panting and undone in his arms. 

Turning back, James caught his eye, and Francis held his breath, almost afraid that his thoughts were plain upon his face. 

Truth be told, Francis was lonely. He missed the closeness he had shared with James before their return. They had not been lovers for quite some time—James’s illness and the crowded conditions on board _Enterprise_ had seen to that—but there had still been easy companionship, the feeling of being known inside and out. 

And since their return to England, Francis had been reminded of the foolish leap of anticipation he still felt when one of Sophia’s letters appeared beside his breakfast plate. He had had the same feeling of understanding with her, once. Now he didn’t know where he stood with either of them, and the enforced formality of society made him wretched. 

Almost in echo of his thoughts, James said, “I suppose Miss Cracroft will be emerging from her mourning too.”

“Yes, I expect so,” Francis said, his voice level.

“And dare I ask if you will be renewing your suit?” James spoke jovially, but Francis thought that perhaps his smile did not quite reach his eyes. Was he afraid that Francis might resume his former intimacy with Sophia, or anxious to see him settled and out of James’s hair, now they were back on dry land? Francis could scarce imagine that James might be jealous—he had never in his life been one to inspire jealousy.

“Her last refusal was very definite,” Francis replied. “I hardly think a renewal would be welcome.”

“Then she would be an extremely foolish woman,” James said softly, looking serious for a moment. Then, recovering himself, “But surely every young lady in London is hoping to have the name of Sir Francis Crozier on her dance card this season?”

Francis rolled his eyes. “I should think the dashing _Captain_ Fitzjames a much more likely prospect. And one much less likely to disappoint on closer acquaintance.” The words might have been bitter, once, but now they only carried the warmth of his genuine regard, even as something in him recoiled at the thought of James being draped in admiring young ladies who would not know the half of his true worth.

The conversation flowed more smoothly after that, and by the time they stood in the hall saying their goodbyes, Francis’s cheeks ached from an unaccustomed amount of smiling. James took his hand, standing close.

“I have missed you, Francis,” he said. “For all that I am glad that we are home safe—” he seemed on the verge of saying something else, then, with a swift glance about, raised Francis’s hand to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to his knuckles. Francis squeezed his hand, reaching a thumb out to brush James’s cheek. At that moment, several young men burst through the door behind them, talking loudly, and they stepped apart swiftly. Then the footman reappeared with Francis’s coat and hat, and Francis could only manage a stilted, “I shall call again. Soon,” hoping as his eyes met James’s dark gaze that his reciprocation of the sentiment was clear. Then he was out in the chilly night, his thoughts in a whirl.

The very next day, with the feel of James’s lips against his hand still fresh and urgent in his mind, Francis received a note from Sophia informing him that she was accepting visitors again, and requesting the pleasure of his company for tea that afternoon. He was almost inclined not to go, but the desire to see her again won out over the fear of further emotional complications. Perhaps, now, they could simply meet as old friends.

As soon as they were alone, however, Sophia’s arms were around his neck, and he returned her urgent, slightly tearful kiss before he had time to think about it.

“I have been wanting to do that since your return,” she said, pressing his face in her hands to assure herself that he was really there. “But I forget myself,” she continued, stepping back and collecting herself with a deep breath. “I have no right to lay claim to your affections.”

He raised a gentle eyebrow at her, a reminder that this had never stopped her in the past. She retreated to the safety of the low table spread with china, pouring tea with admirably steady hands. Francis could feel the old tremor return to his as he sat on the settee, hardly knowing what to say or do.

Then Sophia set her untasted cup down with a clatter and sank to her knees before him.

“You see, I am determined to do this properly,” she said, with a wry smile, and took a deep breath. “I know that I do not deserve to ask anything of you, after I rejected you twice and sent you off to what could very well have been your death. I assure you I have regretted all those things bitterly in your absence, and that my mind was changed long before your return and altered circumstances. I would not have you think me material. I love you as well now as I did when you were poor and lacking in rank and influence, only I have had to face the reality that I might have lost you forever. You can go back to sea again tomorrow, if only I can call you mine today.”

She was getting choked up again, but took his hands and looked him in the eye as she said, “Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

Francis’s laugh was a strangled thing deep in his throat, a mixture of emotion and disbelief, and the irony of this reversal of positions. Her kiss still burned on his lips, but even that felt like a betrayal of his intimacy with James. His treacherous heart leapt with joy at the thought of finally making Sophia his wife, but Francis had made his choice out on the ice and the only right thing was to honour it. He drew her up to sit beside him.

“My dear,” he said gently, “this proof of your affection means more to me than I can say. I am very sorry that—that I cannot accept your offer.”

If he were a crueller man, if his heart were not in his throat, Francis might have laughed at the expression of utter disbelief that crossed Sophia’s face before she mastered herself. Endeavouring to ease her discomfort, he quickly went on. “Believe me, my refusal is no reflection on yourself. I find the Arctic has changed me, this time, more than any of my previous voyages. I am no longer the man I was.”

She lifted a hand to his face, frowning.

“You cannot have changed so much as to no longer be the man I love. You smile at me as you have always done. Your letters are still full of your kindness and your griping.”

Francis smiled in spite of himself, treasuring the softness of her hand on her cheek, even as he shook his head sadly. She swallowed, and went on, “I cannot tell you how I longed for your safety while you we lost, how much it pained me to know the mistake I had made in rejecting you. I thought, on your return, I would finally have the chance to remedy that, to ensure your happiness—”

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she looked away, fighting to control herself. Francis caught her hand as it slipped from his face, and cradled it between his own. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath to keep her voice steady, “it is of course your choice to make. But I beg you to tell me why, honestly. I will only torment myself otherwise.”

Francis considered what to say. It pained him to see Sophia so miserable, and on his account. Perhaps the truth would help to reconcile her to his refusal, if nothing else. He took the plunge.

“You know that Captain Fitzjames and I became very close over the course of our ordeal. I could not have got through it without him by my side, and I grew to love him—well, almost like a brother.” Sophia’s eyebrows flickered as if she already knew what he was getting at, damn her intuition, but he was determined to get the words out. “We were lovers, Sophia. I know it’s against the laws of God and man, but neither of those things had much weight out there, in the end. And I would not throw him over just because we’re in a civilised land again.”

Francis paused for breath and to risk a glance at Sophia’s face. She was still listening, that was something. 

“I thought I would die out there. I thought I would end my days with James at my side and was content with that. I couldn’t begin to think of a future until we were sailing home. Then, when I thought of what there was to return to in England, all I could think of was you. I have missed you, you know, wished for your company and counsel. I don’t even know if he wishes to continue our intimacy now we have returned. But neither am I free to accept your proposal. Do you understand?”

Sophia was quiet for a minute, tracing the shoulder seam of his coat with one finger. “I always thought that my rival for your affections was the sea, or the Service,” she said at last. “A single person seems much more manageable, in comparison.” They both smiled at that, and some of the tension in the room was lifted. “I appreciate your honesty—that is something I have always valued in you.” She paused again, pensive. “Do I understand, then, that this prior commitment is the only reason for your refusal?”

“Yes, if you would truly have me after all this time. I know you to be well acquainted with all my other flaws.”

She smiled at that, and went on, “And this connection with Captain Fitzjames is something you truly desire? You are not acting merely out of a sense of duty, or obligation?”

Again, Francis answered without having to consider his response. “No, I am not. I have regretted the distance that has grown between us since our return. His friendship and our intimacy were the only good things to come out of that wretched expedition, and the only things from the past four years that I miss.” A sudden wave of emotion hit him as he spoke—he had had no one else to tell of his feelings for James, and speaking them aloud gave them a new weight. 

Sophia observed the fierceness in his eye and the flush that sprang to his cheeks, and shifted closer to tuck her arm through his, leaning into his side comfortingly. “Dear Francis.” The strength of his affections was familiar to her, but seeing them directed towards someone else gave her a strange rush of protectiveness, a determination that he must not be hurt again. “Does he return these feelings?”

“I—I hope so. We have not discussed it, as such, but I have reason to believe that he might—that he might also desire…” Francis faltered, becoming aware of the delicacy of the situation. “But I apologise, you surely do not wish to hear of it.”

“I did ask,” she reminded him gently. “It does not pain me to hear of your feelings for another, if that is your concern. That you are alive, and happy, is all that I need be assured of. And if your regard for me is unchanged in spite of this new attachment, well. That is indeed grounds for hope.”

Francis shook his head thoughtfully, his hand once again reaching for hers like a compass drawn to true North. “I would not have thought it possible,” he said. “My duty has always been clearly before me, every step of my career laid out, since I was thirteen years old. Matters of choice have been between the lesser of two evils: rot on half-pay, or put my life in danger on the seas? Stay frozen in and starve, or walk out and face innumerable other dangers?” His tapped his knee with his free fist, like a judge weighing his gavel before the verdict. “Now I have before me two possible courses of happiness, the acceptance of one of which will cause me to lose the other. And you speak to me of hope?”

When he met Sophia’s eyes, he found a spark in them that boded something reckless and delightful: the expression she got when she guided his hand up her skirts while the Franklins were in the next room. 

“What if you did not have to choose?” she asked.

Francis frowned in confusion and she watched him, letting the moment linger teasingly before she went on. “You would have to consult with the gentleman in question, of course, but for myself, I would be glad to make a life with you in which he was also a part. You have written of your desire to find some scientific employment here, instead of sailing off to the ends of the earth again. Marry me, let us finally be happy together, and make whatever arrangements you wish with Captain Fitzjames as well. I know that you do not give your heart lightly, Francis, and from all I’ve seen of the man, he seems entirely worthy of your affections.”

It took several reiterations and reassurances for Francis to come to grips with Sophia’s proposition, and he marvelled at how she had changed during his absence, as well. When once she had desired stability and social status, even as he had yearned for the recognition that seemed always out of his grasp, he now found in her an urge to seek out those who mattered most and hold fast that echoed his own conviction on the subject. The bonds of fellowship had been what kept the expedition’s survivors alive, when all hope seemed lost, and Sophia seemed to understand something of this feeling too.

“You are certain?” he asked seriously. “I would not have you resent this promise, nor make it out of desperation. We have time to see how things fall out.”

She shook her head. “I do not wish to waste another moment. Go speak to Captain Fitzjames, and see what sort of understanding you can reach. If this is an agreeable solution for you, that is.”

Francis tried to picture, for a moment, what such a future could consist of. He saw all his long-held dreams of life with Sophia, her wit and beauty and steadiness always his to rely on and enjoy. And he remembered, with a pang, how he and James had fought and faced the worst of each other, how hard-won and precious their knowledge of each other was. He could not quite envision these two sides of his life coming together, but the prospect of abandoning one for the other was likewise too painful to contemplate. He could not help feeling that the idea of having both was too good to be true, that so much happiness was not his lot, nor indeed any man’s. Life was made up of hard choices. But the prospect was there, and he could not turn his back on it. His heart swelled with gratitude for Sophia’s generosity, and he nodded.

“If it is possible, I would wish it above all things.”

He did not kiss her again, but before he left he held her tight in his arms, feeling how well she fit against him. She squeezed him back, and wished him the best for his conversation with James, and Francis let himself hope as he had not done since he saw Ross’s men cresting the ridge on King William Land, a year before.

Everything that had seemed simple in Sophia’s parlour became suddenly more fraught when Frances considered how to broach the matter to James. They had met in the neutral ground of St James’s Park, finding a bench where they could stare at the ducks and talk in privacy. There was an autumnal nip to the air, but the sun was warm and pleasant.

“I come bearing news. Good news, I hope.” Francis attempted to inject false cheer into his voice. James’s eyes narrowed and he knew that he saw through him at once.

“Another celebratory dinner, perhaps?” James asked lightly, trying to match his tone. “Though I doubt you would ever refer to such an ordeal as good news.”

Francis fidgeted with his hands, too anxious to sit still, and could not bear to delay the matter with small talk and banter. “I went to call on Sophia yesterday. She wishes to marry me.”

Francis was unprepared for the look of pain that crossed James’s face at the words, and his heart sank as James looked away and swallowed hard, clearly mastering himself in order to respond. He knew that he meant something to James, he knew what they had shared, but at the same time, he had yet to fully explain himself and already felt wrong-footed.

“My- my congratulations.”

James, for his part, felt the impact of Francis’s words like a blow. Despite the fact that he had been fearing this very event since their return, the danger had never quite seemed real. He had let himself believe that Francis was different, somehow, from all the other men who were happy to take their pleasure with a comrade while at sea, and as ready to return to respectable, normal, life as soon as they set foot on land. 

But stronger even than his own hurt was anger on Francis’s behalf, to see him settling back into old patterns. It was as if he had turned up at James’s door with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

“No,” he said, finding his tongue again as he sprang to his feet to face Francis, “I’m sorry, I cannot congratulate you. I have seen you nearly consumed by the pain of this woman’s rejections! Multiple rejections, in case you had forgotten. How can you be so certain that her affections are genuine now?”

Francis blinked, surprised at James’s vehemence. “I am certain,” he said quietly. “Her affections have always been genuine. It is merely that circumstances have changed now.”

“Oh I see, now that she is free of her uncle’s disapproval? Now that your station in life is acceptably elevated? What kind of love is that, Francis?”

James wanted to shout that he had loved Francis before he was knighted, before he was a lauded hero. He had seen him at his absolute worst and was prepared to take him, wholly and utterly, for being nothing but himself. As he thought Francis had accepted him, in turn. But there was no use saying any of that now. Francis was shaking his head.

“I cannot fault her for having practical concerns, James.”

“You can fault her for leading you on when she had no intention of accepting you!”

“That doesn’t matter now.”

“If you must marry, why not at least start afresh, with someone who has not hurt you so grievously in the past?

“Because I love her!” Francis was beginning to raise his voice, now, and stood to face James. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood that.”

“Don’t delude yourself,” James snapped. “You’re not the first man who has promised me nothing would change when we reached shore, who then married and found it convenient to let our acquaintance lapse.”

Francis looked stricken by that—whether by the knowledge that there had been others, or that he was grouped in among them, James was not certain. “James,” Francis said more softly, “please sit, and hear me out. The last thing I wish is to hurt you, nor do I wish for anything to change between us.”

James let himself be placated and sat beside Francis once more, angling himself so as to keep Francis’s face under scrutiny.

“When last I saw you,” Francis went on, “when we said goodbye, you gave me hope that your feelings might—that is to say, that what passed between us in the Arctic might not be over. I have not known how things stood between us since our return, but I have felt your absence deeply.”

James regarded Francis, feeling again the rush of longing that had led him to so foolishly kiss Francis’s hand in the hallway of his club. He had come to trust Francis more than almost anyone else in his life, and to feel him slipping away into a life wholly separate from James’s was more painful than he could have imagined. 

“Don’t worry about that now,” James said, trying to put on a brave face, but aware that Francis could see through the façade as he always did.

“I do worry, James,” Francis said softly. “I wish for your happiness, but I have not known how to grant it. I fear I am making an even greater hash of it now. Would it please you to know that I regret nothing that passed between us, since the moment I left my cabin sober? That I have felt like a part of me is missing since our return to England?”

James looked away, unable to bear the tender scrutiny of Francis’s gaze, but he could not help reaching for him, like a drowning man grasping for a rope. Francis caught his hand and held it fast, running his thumb across James’s knuckles. James watched the ducks paddle in the lake, converging smoothly on any lingering passer-by who seemed likely to throw them bread.

“I have missed you, Francis,” James finally said, “more than I can say. But I feared this would happen—that you would return to your Miss Cracroft and we must return to polite friendship. Forgive me, but if I failed to seek out your company, it was for fear of eventual pain. Cowardly, I know, but—”

Francis hushed him with some impatience him before more self-recrimination could rise to his lips. 

“Will you listen to me? I am not come to tell you that all is finished. If you wish for us to resume our previous intimacy, I would welcome that. As would Sophia.”

That was enough to startle James out of his gloomy observation of waterfowl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is I who must ask forgiveness, James. I told her what we were to one another, in order to explain that her proposal put me in the very uncomfortable position of being forced to choose between you. For her part, she said that I need not choose, but that I must also consult with you on the matter. Which is what I’m attempting to do now, and making a rather poor show of it.”

James attempted to take in this astonishing glut of new information, and found it all a bit too much. That Miss Cracroft should not only know their secret, but be encouraging of their affair, was almost too much to countenance. And that Francis should want him enough to speak of it, to feel torn at the choice: that made James’s heart pound wildly with sudden hope. And yet the hope was tempered by the idea of Francis being married, of Miss Cracroft looking over their shoulders, as it were. The first words out of his mouth managed to express almost none of his feelings.

“Well, this all gives rather a different view of her character, I must say.”

Francis had a defensive set to his jaw, and James resisted further commentary on Miss Cracroft. He squeezed Francis’s hand where it still clasped his own.

“Let me take a turn about the park and collect my thoughts?” James asked. “It’s all rather a lot for a fellow to take in.”

Francis nodded, and James set off, slower than he once would have, but still grateful for the familiar way that being in motion calmed his racing mind. By the time he made the circuit, he smiled to see from a distance that Francis had somehow acquired a bread roll, and, as a result, a devoted coterie of feathered companions. The foremost thought in his mind was that Francis must be made happy.

“Marry her, Francis,” he said as soon as they were side by side once more. “I cannot wholeheartedly approve your choice, but you know the lady better than I do and she certainly appears to be more generous than I had given her credit for. You know that Dundy and I are soon to set out on a tour of the Mediterranean, for our health. When I return in the spring, we can speak of this further. Meanwhile the two of you should have the time together that you’ve wanted for so long.”

It hurt James to know that he might be relinquishing Francis forever, for who knew how married life might change his mind about taking up with a foreign-born self-aggrandising fool? But the assurance of Francis’s regard thus far gave him strength. He felt, too, that months of fresh sights with an old friend would clear his head and bring him back to himself. In any case, the sacrifice was worth it for the small, genuine, smile that appeared on Francis’s face.

“I don’t deserve either of you,” Francis said, reaching out as if to shake James’s hand but using it to draw him close. He raised James’s hand to his lips in an echo of their last goodbye, and as he walked away, James tried to let the lingering sensation of the kiss drown out the tumult of confusion that the interview had left churning within him.

The wedding was an exceedingly quiet ceremony, attended only by a small handful of friends and relatives. Sir James and Ann Ross were there, of course, and Lady Jane and Elinor Franklin, still in deep mourning. Sophia looked exquisite in dove-grey silk and pink roses. Francis did not, in fact, break out in hives during the course of the service, but he breathed a sigh of relief when it was concluded, having scarcely marked the vows as they fell from his lips.

To the chagrin of everyone involved, there was no more appropriate place for them to spend the wedding night than at the Franklin house: Francis’s bachelor rooms certainly would not do, and they were yet to set up a home of their own. It was not a fortuitous beginning, and nothing was better calculated to dampen the ardour of newlyweds than the mourning crepe still covering every surface, and the ghost of Sir John’s presence in every room. Thus, Sophia sat brushing out her hair and waiting for Francis with a strange knot of emotions tangling inside her. This was where she had spent so long awaiting his return, fearing him dead and vanished. And yet, her lover had survived when Lady Jane’s had not, and her current happiness felt like a betrayal of the bond they had shared over those long anxious years of hoping and harassing the Admiralty together. 

Sophia rose and looked out the window to the courtyard. She remembered vividly how the pain had spread through her bare feet, standing down there in the snow. It hurt like little fiery stabs until numbness took over, shivers wracking her lightly-clad body uncontrollably. She had told herself, then, that if she could only endure it, then maybe Francis could too—if she could hold out until morning there might be hope for him. But she was weak, and the night was harsh and stretched interminably in front of her, and she had eventually dragged herself up to this very bed to curl up and weep.

These were not the thoughts of a happy bride, and Francis saw the misery plainly on her face when he stepped into the room. He hesitated, clearly fearing that she was having regrets, but when she opened her arms he came forward and enfolded her. She clung tight to him, burying her face in the comfort of his broad chest, and he kissed her hair and stroked her back soothingly. It was hard to speak all the fear and longing and guilt that had been bound up so tightly within her for so long, and eventually she could only assuage the ache by reaching up to kiss him hard. 

Their bodies were not unknown to each other, but by unspoken agreement they had not resumed this intimacy since their engagement. Furtive fumbling was to be left in the past with the less-happy chapters of their relationship. With the wedding planned, they could wait. Now, they had all the time in the world, but Sophia felt spurred into a fierce urgency, and Francis followed her lead. They bit and grasped hard enough to bruise, and Francis tumbled her down with little fanfare to fuck her hard and fast. Sophia clung to him, trying to pull him closer even as his balls slapped against her with every thrust. It was neither tender nor elegant, nothing but desperate need and overwrought emotions poured into a coupling that left them both shaking and drained. 

Afterwards, there would be time to hold each other and talk, and slowly re-learn one another’s bodies. Miraculously, after tumultuous years of separation, there was no ending in sight.

Married life was a strange thing, Francis found. There was the whole business of setting up a household, which they did in Greenwich, not far from the Rosses and the Observatory. He knew that this expedition had been his last. While he missed the life of the sea deeply, he could never again set out bearing the responsibility for so many men’s lives. His intention was to work for the Royal Society in some capacity, making use of his knowledge of terrestrial magnetism. He had influence enough, now, to ask for practically any position he wanted. Five years ago he would have scoffed at the idea of ever possessing such a privilege. 

The Francis of old would have been likewise disbelieving that he should have the pleasure of falling asleep with Sophia Cracroft—no, Sophia Crozier—in his arms every night, and awaking beside her every morning. After what felt like half a lifetime of waiting and wanting from afar, they now fit the routines of their daily lives around one another. 

Sophia, for her part, watched Francis settling in to civilian life with mingled satisfaction and concern, still wary that he might be sacrificing his happiness for her sake. She knew that he was still uneasy about how he had left matters with Captain Fitzjames, but only time and their promised reunion in the spring would provide resolution. In the meantime, she was selfishly grateful to have a few months of keeping Francis to herself, and the chance to settle into a life together as they had never had before.

One day, not long after moving in to their new home, he called her into his dressing room. She got up from where her maid was halfway through putting up her hair and looked in.

“Every drawer full,” he said proudly, gesturing to his dresser. They were all pulled out and she could see that it was true: full of socks and shirts and collars and a commitment to stay. Caught between laughing and weeping, she pulled him in by his braces and kissed him over and over. His hands tangled in her half-pinned hair, and he walked her back into the bedroom, still kissing her.

“I’ll call you when I need you, Agnes,” Sophia gasped out, and her maid, who had been with her since Hobart and was fully resigned to her mistress’s madness where Captain Crozier was concerned, dropped a curtsey and hastily retreated.

Francis tumbled her onto the bed and set to work on the buttons of her bodice.

“I’ve only just gotten dressed, darling,” she protested, without very much conviction.

“Very well, then.” He kissed the skin of her neck he had just revealed, then scooted away to the foot of the bed. She laughed as he ran his hands up her stockinged legs, and helped gather her skirts up for him. He paused to find a gap between the top of her stocking and the lacy hem of her drawers, making her giggle at the unexpected kiss to her knee; with his melancholy for the most part lifted, Francis was a delight, full of humour and affection. She loved him so much more now than she had even thought possible.

He settled between her thighs, extravagantly kissing every inch of skin not covered by fabric, and she moaned and settled her legs wider as he set to work pleasuring her in earnest. She had taught him too well, she thought, as he patiently licked and sucked at her cunt, riding out her increasingly urgent entreaties and the nails she dug into his arm as she climaxed. He kept at it until she pulled him away, breathless and trembling.

“Enough?”

“For now, you smug creature. Get up here.”

He laughed at her fondly and shrugged the braces off his shoulders, undoing his trousers and untucking his shirt as he crawled up to kiss her. She kissed the taste of herself off his lips and arched her hips up as he sank into her, familiar and still so blissfully good.

The days were full of such joys, but in the dark of night, Francis’s ghosts came out to haunt him. Spectres of ice reaching from horizon to horizon, a beast too huge to comprehend with the stink of death in its teeth, the faces of all those he could not save. From poor wasted John Torrington that first winter to Evans snatched from behind his back to Blanky limping away to face a monster with his bundle of rope and forks, they stretched away into the distance like the line of kings the witches had shown Macbeth. 

But there was always a face he searched for and couldn’t find. He roamed the empty decks of Terror, throwing open door after door, or trudged across endless snow and stone. He tried to run but the heavy harness held him back. He was pulling the weight of the boat alone and no matter how he threw himself forward, he couldn’t reach the tall figure on the horizon. He knew James was sick and he needed him and was going to disappear and he was calling his name and he couldn’t hear—

Francis awoke with a gasp, sweaty and breathing hard. The sheet was tangled across his chest and his heart was pounding. Beside him, Sophia stirred sleepily and stretched out a hand. 

“I’m all right,” Francis murmured hoarsely. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He peeled the clinging sheets away and rose, knowing all too well that it would be hours before he could settle himself again. Instead, he went downstairs to re-read James’s last letter and drink a glass of water, trying hard to ignore its utter inadequacy as a comforting beverage. James and Le Vesconte were in Florence, now, and he wrote charmingly of the art and the buildings and sunshine. Dundy had befriended an amusing local who was trying to involve them in high-stakes gambling and they had only extricated themselves with difficulty. 

Francis smiled and sighed as he ran a thumb across James’s familiar scrawling script. He missed him terribly. It was a comfort to have any contact at all, but James carefully avoided any mention of their unresolved feelings, writing only of trivialities. In turn, Francis advised him on places to visit and shared memories of his own European tour. He had travelled mainly to nurse his heartbreak after Sophia refused him. He hoped that James would find the change of scene more of a comfort than he had done. He did not wish to apply any pressure, but confined himself to wishes for James’s happiness, whatever form that should take.

“My dear?” Sophia said, poking her head around the door of Francis’s study a few days later. “I’m afraid I’ve taken a very great liberty.”

“Oh?” he said, turning and reaching his hand out with an indulgent smile.

She came forward, hands clasped behind her back and looking like nothing so much as a wayward midshipman awaiting a telling-off. “I have written to Captain Fitzjames to ask him to come stay with us when he returns.”

Francis’s eyebrows soared. “Have you now? And have I told you on what terms we parted ways? I hardly think him likely to accept an invitation, especially coming from you.”

“You need him, Francis. I told him so. When you wake from your nightmares it is his name on your lips, and I cannot forget how you spoke of him when we were first reunited. I know that you intend to speak to him when he returns, but I—I cannot bear the thought of standing between you, and felt I must make a gesture of welcome myself. I mean for him to give you comfort in whatever way you need. Whatever way.”

Francis was a little ashamed at the wave of relief that swept through him. He knew that Sophia was not one to go back on her word, once given, but he had feared that their months of married happiness would have made her reluctant to make any change to their situation. She had only made polite enquiries after James when a letter arrived, and Francis had been willing to wait. Now, he felt buoyed with hope, and filled with love at her willingness to take this step. “And you told him so?”

“I did, in terms that I hope will be clear enough.” Sophia rested an arm around Francis’s shoulders and they both looked out at the garden, its shoots of green beginning emerge from dull yellows and browns. Francis looked up at her, unable to keep the smile off his lips. Sophia knew, then, that she had acted rightly.

“Miraculous woman.” He kissed her hand. “I suppose I had better write, too, and reiterate the invitation. It would be a great pleasure to see him again, if he would come.”

It was another month before they received word that Fitzjames was back in England, and several long days more before he arrived at the door. Francis was on his feet at the first sound of James’s voice in the hallway, his familiar step, before the housemaid could even show him in to the parlour where Francis and Sophia waited. Francis was across the room with his hands outstretched in a moment, determined to ease any lingering awkwardness, and to his relief, James met him with a wide smile and tight embrace. 

“It’s good to see you, James,” Francis said, pulling back far enough to clasp James’s arms and look him over. “You’re looking well after your travels.”

“Nearly feeling my old self again.” His gaze held Francis’s for a moment with a great mass of unspoken sentiment hanging between them, then, clearly recalling his manners, he turned to Sophia. “Forgive me, I am neglecting my hostess. A pleasure to see you again, Lady Sophia.” 

“Call me Sophia, please,” she said, stepping forward and offering her hand. “I do feel that we are friends already, Captain Fitzjames.”

James bowed over her hand. “I would be honoured. And you must call me James, of course.”

Watching him, Francis could see that his polite mask had almost imperceptibly fallen into place again, the elegant, shallow manner that Francis had so despised before he knew it for what it was. But what was a man supposed to do, faced with the fortified battlements of the marriage union? James was a brave man, he knew this, but coming here must have taken a particular kind of courage, and a grace that Francis was not sure that he himself possessed.

“I shall let you gentlemen catch up with one another undisturbed,” Sophia said, “and I will see you at dinner.” She went up on her toes to drop a quick kiss on Francis’s cheek, and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

When she opened the door, however, her way was blocked by a great black dog, who had been sniffing enquiringly outside. Francis glanced at James’s face quickly enough to see the stricken look there, before reassuring him, “This is Venus. Another of Neptune’s litter. You’re not seeing a ghost.”

The hollowness of James’s laugh quickly turned genuine as he crouched down to welcome her investigation with a scratch of the ears, turning his head to avoid her large tongue.

“I do regret that dog, Francis,” he said, glancing up briefly before addressing Venus. “But look at you! What a beautiful creature!”

Francis turned his gaze on Sophia, who was watching James and the dog with warmth in her eyes, and he knew that James had just gone up in her estimation. Then, with a quick smile, she slipped out. 

“Come through to my study,” said Francis, “and bring Venus. She knows she isn’t allowed in the parlour. Come on, girl.”

He led them both down the hall to the smaller room, cosy with the scents of leather, books, and tobacco. James visibly relaxed as they moved from the feminine domain of the parlour to this more masculine world, unbuttoning his coat and settling in an armchair while Francis rang the bell for tea.

“It’s strange to see you ensconced in such a domestic sphere, Francis,” James observed as Francis sat down across from him on the other side of the small fireplace. “When I read your letters I still picture you writing them from your cabin aboard _Terror_.”

Francis smiled, a little sadly. “I think a part of me will always still be there.”

James nodded. “But you are happy, here? Married life does seem to suit you.”

“I am very happy. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you, James.” Francis paused, struggling to find adequate words. “There is an emptiness by my side where you used to be. I sometimes turn to speak to you, expecting to find you there.”

James’s eyes were shadowed and unreadable, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “Surely Sophia has filled that place?”

Francis shook his head. “I find I have become greedy since my return, James. I eat until my stomach is full to bursting at every meal. I rush outside to catch the least glimpse of sun. And I want you beside me as well as Sophia, if you will allow it.”

“Never doubt that I want to be by your side, Francis—my travels gave me more than enough time to contemplate the alternatives, and none will suffice. Not even Dundy’s ability to sniff out the local delicacies in every city we visited could make up for your absence.” James’s smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes, before his face grew serious again. “I confess I still do not know how I shall get on with Sophia, but the letter she sent me went a long way to assuring me of her sincerity. I think she is a more generous woman than I would ever be.”

Francis let out a short laugh.

“I’ve seen you in that gown, James. You make a fine woman.”

James laughed too, and there was a subtle change in the atmosphere as the recollection of that debauched night aboard Erebus suffused the air between them. 

They had both begun to shift towards one another when a clatter at the door announced the maid with the tea, and they jumped guiltily. 

“Your brother and sister in law are well, I hope?” Francis managed, while the maid set the tray down and laid out the cups and saucers.

“Very well, thank you. They send their regards.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and left, and Francis was on his feet in an instant, pulling James up and into his arms. He clasped James’s hand, and drew it to his lips.

“If you only wish for friendship, now, I will consider that honour enough.” Francis reached out to cup James’s cheek, tracing the deep line there with his thumb. “But if you do wish for more, it is yours for the asking.”

James’s eyes met Francis’s briefly, as if seeking further assurance, before he ducked his head to press their lips together. It was a brief kiss, which immediately merged into another and another as their lips caught and slid together in well-remembered rhythm. Francis felt James’s arms wrap around him, and there was a strange weight in his chest, as though something missing had just fallen into place. James let out a pleased, hungry noise as Francis tilted his face to deepen the kiss. 

In this way, their tender reminiscing carried them through until dinner time. 

“You look well kissed, dear,” Sophia observed mildly as Francis entered their room, having finally let James go to freshen himself before the meal. “And contented.”

“I am.” He went to stand behind her where she sat at her dressing table, observing him in the mirror, and rested his hands on the lovely slope of her shoulders, bared by her evening gown. “You look very fine. Ought I to change?”

“I don’t see why. It’s nearly time to go down, anyway.”

She stood and gave him a questioning look.

“Not quite well kissed enough, I fear,” Francis said, drawing her close, and though she laughed, probably at his expense, she hummed her pleasure against his lips. 

That night, Sophia very firmly sent Francis to James’s bed, despite his guilty half-protests. He kissed her one last time and then she heard his footsteps cross the hall and the door to the guest bedroom open and close. She tried to focus on her book once more, but despite her best intentions, she found her ears straining to catch any other sounds. 

There was nothing, for a time, but then the familiar bark of Francis’s laughter rang out, followed by James’s, and she smiled. It was well for Francis to have someone to make him laugh. She sometimes worried that there was too much past sadness for him to feel fully easy with her, despite much evidence to the contrary. She chased the thought, probing at it like a sore tooth, trying to root out any jealousy or bitterness. She knew what it was to have a broad scope of desires, so Francis’s attraction to another did not leave her feeling any less wanted; more so since James was such a contrast to herself. No, what she felt on detecting the faint squeak of the old wooden bedframe shifting was merely curiosity, the voyeuristic urge to know how they were with one another.

Sophia wondered if they had ever had the luxury of a proper bed to share—most likely not, only the cramped quarters on board ship, or perhaps a tent on the ice. She remembered the first time she had snuck to Francis’s rooms, unchaperoned, and they had been able to lie down and take their time with one another—how much weightier it had felt than their brief interludes in Hobart. 

Were Francis and James, even now, discovering new and unmapped territory on each other’s bodies, revelling in the ability to sprawl out and explore? Did James find Francis’s constellations of freckles as delightful as she did? And what surprises lay beneath Captain Fitzjames’s elegant exterior? Sophia squirmed a little at the warmth between her legs, and told herself not to be prurient in their private matters.

She thought, instead, of how they had been at dinner, scarcely able to keep their eyes off of one another. James, an eager storyteller, recounted tales of his European travels. When Francis accused him of embroidering the details, James reached across the corner of the table to whack Francis’s arm with the back of his hand before joining in the general laughter. It was an intimate, casual, brotherly gesture. They teased one another with tender expressions, undercutting words that had once been thrown in genuine malice. Sophia was reminded a little of Francis’s camaraderie with James Ross, but Ross had never looked at Francis with such naked affection as did James Fitzjames. James, too, was not content merely to tell stories of his own plentiful adventures, but asked about Sophia’s life and travels, expressing great interest in Van Diemen’s Land. She, in turn, drew Francis into telling some of his stories of the Antarctic, which she very much doubted he would boast about of his own accord. 

Seeing their interactions had secured her conviction, already bolstered by Francis’s word, that Fitzjames was a worthy comrade in arms and companion, and whatever else he was to Francis. She would have refused to let him get himself attached to anyone else likely to break his heart. That was her burden to bear alone. 

Breakfast was awkward the first few days, as none of them quite knew the etiquette for making polite conversation after they all knew that the man of the house had spent the past several nights in the guest bedroom. One morning, Francis got cross over the newspaper and its reporting of certain statements made in Parliament about the famine in Ireland. He spent the rest of the meal working himself into an increasingly foul mood before stomping off to his study.

“I never know what to do with him when he gets like this,” Sophia confessed quietly.

“Oh, this is how we spent about half the voyage,” James replied with a wry smile. “Nothing to be done but let him stew it out. Why don’t we take Venus for a walk?”

Sophia watched from the doorway as James bent over Francis where he sat at his desk, said something in a low voice, and squeezed Francis’s shoulder. On the way out he called, “Try to shake the brown study, Francis!”

“That wasn’t bloody helpful then and it’s not bloody goddamn helpful now and you know it!”

“I’m taking your wife and your dog and I’m leaving!”

The housemaid looked a little startled at the shouted exchange, but James was smiling as she helped him on with his coat and handed him his hat. 

“I think he needs someone to shout at sometimes,” he explained, offering Sophia his arm as they turned toward the park, “and better me than you. He punched me in the face once, you know,” he added conversationally.

“Did he really? I know he didn’t particularly like you at the start of the voyage but that seems excessive.”

“I’m sure he had some very choice words about me at the time. But no, this was later, just before he gave up drinking. We were none of us in a very good state at that point, and I did rather provoke him. I tell you, though, seeing Francis shake off his reliance on drink is one of the bravest deeds I’ve ever witnessed. I don’t know if he’s ever spoken of it.”

“Only a little, but I see the change. I haven’t seen him so contented since I first knew him in Van Diemen’s Land. Before I made him unhappy, I suppose.”

“You’re certainly making up for any unhappiness now.”

“I do hope so.” 

They had reached the gates of the park, and let Venus off the lead to run happy circles around the grass, her exuberance in sharp contrast to their cautious, muted conversation. James shivered against the April chill and leaned on the stick he sometimes still used.

“I must ask, is this—my being here, I mean—an effort at penance on your part?”

Sophia regarded him for a moment before answering firmly. “No. I meant every word I wrote to you, and it was always my intention to bring the two of you together again. I don’t suppose Francis told you that he refused me, at first, when I proposed?”

James stopped their leisurely stroll to stare at her incredulously. “He said… he said he told you about us, and that he didn’t want to have to choose.”

“That’s not precisely what happened,” she replied, with a sly smile. “It took a great deal of prodding on my part to reach that point. At first, he simply refused outright since you had the prior claim.”

“Good lord.”

She laughed a little at his thunderstruck expression, not unkindly, and took his arm again, pressing it with both her hands.

“So please don’t hold my persistence against him or doubt the depth of his regard. You mean a great deal to him, James, and I am happy for him to receive as much love as possible. I very much hope we shall be allies, and not rivals.”

“That is my most fervent wish, and I am deeply grateful to you for… well, for consenting to share your husband with me.”

They smiled and shook hands on it like gentlemen, then returned to their stroll.

“Are you not inclined to marry, yourself?” Sophia asked after they had walked a while, silent apart from the rustle of leaves underfoot.

“No.” James sought to express in words what he had always felt with conviction. “It’s not that I find women undesirable, you see, but I’ve always found it easier to form deep connections with my comrades at arms. Women are just—in a different sphere of life, I suppose. And I wanted to be free to pursue whatever adventures came my way, not tied to an obligation that I would always inadequately fulfil. My name wouldn’t be much to leave a wife with while I disappeared to sea for years on end.”

Sophia smiled ruefully. “I wish Francis had understood himself so well,” she said. “He might have spared himself a great deal of unhappiness.”

“That was why you refused him, before?”

“That, and being too swayed by what society would think. I called it practicality, but it was all vanity, in the end.”

James nodded in agreement.

Sophia looked up into his face with too-knowing eyes. “Did you hate me very much?” 

“Well. I confess I was not overjoyed to learn that Francis was going to marry you, after you rejected him twice.”

“You must understand, a woman is trapped in marriage, and judged for it, as a man is not. That is all she is seen for—she becomes a part of him, with no means to prove her own merits as an individual. I was mercenary, yes, but the stakes were very high, and it took my nearly losing him to see that being with him was worth the cost.”

Her words certainly had the ring of truth, and James could not look back on his association with Francis without many pangs of his own regrets. “It took me far too long to see his true merit, too. Thank God we both have more time now.”

_So this is what Francis looked like when he kissed someone_ , James thought, staring from the doorway of the parlour with a forgotten letter in his hand. He couldn’t look away from the soft intensity of Francis’s face as he embraced Sophia, his eyes fallen closed and his finely moulded lips parted as they caught at Sophia’s again and again. Her arms were twined gracefully about his neck and James caught himself cataloguing the gesture the way he sometimes did when he looked at women, trying to pinpoint the equation for an elegance he knew he could never attain. 

Francis’s hands roamed over Sophia’s slender back, then, as she caught at his hair to pull his mouth against hers, one hand dropped to cup her backside. James felt an unexpected stirring at the sight of the two of them together, and at the reminder that an eager body lay beneath those layers of skirts. Then he recalled that he was invading their privacy in an entirely unwarranted manner, and cleared his throat as he knocked at the half-open door, trying to pretend that he had just arrived there.

He was astonished at the speed with which the two sprang several feet apart, Francis flushing blotchily and Sophia much more prettily. Then Francis saw it was James, and gave a rueful laugh. “I half expected to see Sir John glaring disapproval at us,” said he. “Old habits die hard.” 

“No, no, you needn’t worry on my account.”

“Indeed not! I have every right to kiss my wife in my own parlour, damn it!” Francis exclaimed, holding out his hand to draw her close again.

“I merely wanted to show you the invitation we’ve received, a ball for the ‘Heroes of the North’.” James said quickly, trying to cover up the sudden pang of hurt that Francis’s words had caused him. They spoke to a sense of legitimacy that James knew he would never attain, in any relationship, in any aspect of his life. The discomfort that James had felt at every social function they had attended together suddenly coalesced. Sophia on Francis’s arm and James trailing behind; every introduction of “my wife”; the fact that Francis could put his arm around her and bend low to speak in her ear in any company. He felt stifled and angry and suddenly very tired. “My apologies—I will speak to you at a better time.”

James dropped the paper on the table and left.

Francis came to find James a few minutes later, in his room where he had most decidedly not gone to sulk and write an angry letter to Dundy about how selfish and irritating couples could be. 

“What have I done to offend you?” he asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed so as to be eye to eye with James, who was half-turned from the writing desk. 

“Nothing, Francis, I just didn’t want to intrude.”

“Do you not like to see me with Sophia? Is this jealousy? She is my wife and I will not alter my behaviour towards her.” 

James looked away and swallowed hard. “You misunderstand me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I bear her no resentment, nor you. It makes me glad to see you so happy. This is merely my own foolishness and you need not concern yourself.”

Francis sighed and looked down at his hands clasped in front of him, arms resting on his knees. “I know that I hurt you by marrying her, James. I thought that we had settled things to our mutual satisfaction, following your return. Your willingness to come here and stay, your seeming contentment with the situation—I thought that you had reconciled yourself.” 

James sprang out of his seat and paced as far as he could in the narrow confines of the room. “I came here because I was miserable not seeing you, Francis! Pitiful as it is, I would rather accept being here by your wife’s permission, taking whatever scraps of affection you can spare for me, than resign myself to distant formality, much as my pride would enjoy that. You must forgive me my occasional discomfiture when I am reminded of the inequality of our positions.”

“ _Inequality_?” Francis’s voice cracked over the word. “We are comrades, James; more than brothers. I fully respect and value you—”

“But you could only marry one of us, couldn’t you?” James interrupted, sharp with frustration. “And there was never a chance of it being me. You can declare your love for her before the world and be accepted, and there isn’t even a word for what we are to each other. _Brother_ certainly doesn’t cover it.”

“But we know how we stand.” Francis was floundering, knowing he wasn’t saying the right things but not knowing what James needed to hear. He didn’t think that James had ever sought such acknowledgement. James had been so eager for them to call one another _brother_ , back at the cairn on Victory Point. The word expressed so much of what Francis felt: that he and James belonged together, inextricable as blood relations, never to be parted. “Is it not enough that we know what we mean to one another?”

“And what is that?” James snapped, rounding on him. “Friends? Fellow officers who fuck one another?”

“You’re not—you know that neither of those describe it. You’re just—you’re James.”

James supposed that was meant to be endearing, but it merely emphasised the sense of isolation his name had always imposed on him. James Fitzjames. Tied to no one but himself in an endless loop. He clenched his fists, not from any desire to strike Francis, but to distract himself from the ache in this heart. 

“It’s all right,” he spat, “there are no polite words for what I am. Bastard. Sodomite. And now adulterer. I don’t blame you for not being able to put it nicely.”

Francis gazed helplessly up at where James loomed angrily over him. They had understood each other so well for so long, and now he found himself unable to find the words to comfort James. 

“I’m going to my club for the evening,” James continued. “Excuse me.”

Snatching up his coin purse and coat, he swept from the room and stomped down the stairs. 

James had still not returned by the time Francis and Sophia retired for the night, and Francis curled disconsolately in on himself under the covers. Sophia had let him brood all evening, but in the soft warm darkness of their marriage bed, she reached out stroke his tense back.

“I’ve no wish to pry,” she said, “but if what you and James argued about was anything to do with me, I would like to know. If there is anything I can do differently—”

Francis sighed and rolled towards her, letting Sophia draw him into the crook of her shoulder, caress his hair and kiss his brow. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he murmured, “but I have hurt James and can see no way of making things better.”

“What did he say?”

“As I understand it, it’s not that he’s jealous of you, but of that fact that we can be married- that we _are_. He feels it places him on an unequal footing. But I value him no less—the bonds of comrades and brothers in arms are no less strong or meaningful. I thought he understood that. Of course, our relationship must be secret, but that is a fact of life.”

Sophia was silent a moment, but her measured breathing and soothing touch made Francis feel reassured nonetheless. He had felt so sure of himself, of James, when they were together on the ice. It was the return to society that had complicated everything: all the social mores and scrutiny forcing people into the roles that constrained them. There was something to be said for existence in the Great White Nothing, where the need for survival so quickly cut away that which didn’t matter.

“I think he does understand that,” Sophia said. “We have spoken of marriage and he said that he always felt the attachments to his comrades more readily than to women. But you cannot deny that the situation, now, is unequal. Imagine if he were married to a woman and you were but a visitor in their home. Imagine if I had a husband and kept you on the side!”

“That’s not the same—” Francis burst out, but forced himself to stop and truly consider Sophia’s words. She was generally right about such things, after all. He thought about what it would be like to see either of them able to freely express their affection for another, with no fear or shame, and to feel himself secondary, hidden away. No kind words about the value of brotherhood would ease that hurt. And on top of the baggage James already carried regarding his birth and place in society, he wondered that he had been able to bear it for a moment. How foolish Francis had been, not to see this all before. He raised his head to look Sophia in the face. 

“How can I make this right?” he asked miserably. “Is it even possible? Is it selfish of me to wish for both of you in my life, equally? Is that fair to ask of either of you?”

Sophia found his hand and clasped it.

“You know that I was sent to boarding school as a girl, don’t you?” From her searching expression Francis could see that this seeming non-sequitur was something important to her, and he nodded, waiting as she gathered her thoughts. She traced the topography of his scarred knuckles, frowning, and took a deep breath.

“Well, I have never spoken of this—of Diana. When I was sixteen, a new girl arrived at the school, and I thought she was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. She was tall, and had exquisite thick dark hair, and the sharpest eyes you’ve ever seen. When she looked at me, I felt like she was seeing my very soul, and to my surprise, she seemed to like whatever she saw there. We were inseparable, and she was my first love. My only, before you. We used to pore over books of poetry together, looking for the words to describe everything we felt. The number of odes to Artemis I wrote, thinking I was being terribly clever…. I thought we would spend our lives together and I was ready to throw aside all the expectations of the world to do so. But she did marry. There was pressure from her family, and yet I couldn’t help feeling that she had betrayed me, giving in to it. I wept for days, and swore to myself that I would never marry a man.”

Francis raised an eyebrow at her.

“And then,” Sophia continued with a smile, “I accompanied my aunt and uncle to Van Diemen’s Land in an effort to leave my sadness behind and start afresh. And there I met a lovely captain who seemed to speak to my soul in the same way. He was rough around the edges and nothing society would acclaim, but when he looked at me and spoke to me, I felt that he saw me as a fellow person, not merely a pretty accessory placed there to flatter and amuse him.” Sophia paused to kiss Francis tenderly, and he traced her cheek with his hand.

“That was you,” she added unnecessarily, and he chuckled.

“So I gathered,” he said, kissing her again. “So when you refused me—?”

“Everything I told you was true,” Sophia said. “Motives I stand by, and others I am not so proud of. But yes, in the back of my mind I also feared that by accepting you I would lose that part of myself entirely. I would become the very same dutiful wife that I had so bitterly regretted Diana letting herself become, and I would never again be the person who had held such a love so dear.”

There was a pensive furrow in her brow, and Francis pressed his lips to it.

“You still are,” he told her, “never fear. Present love does not negate what has passed before.” He smiled sadly, casting his mind back decades. “When I was about the same age, sixteen or seventeen, there was a fellow midshipman who made me feel the same way—I thought every lovers’ declaration throughout time was written for us, and he opened my eyes to what I was capable of feeling, in body and in heart. But there was always our duty to the service, first, and after he was transferred to another ship, we lost touch eventually. And then, after I had witnessed the punishment for sodomy first-hand, I realised how fortunate we were never to have been caught. You feel invincible when you’re young and foolish. But I decided that I had better keep that part of myself under wraps, for my own safety and that of anyone else I came to care for. Until James. I thought we might never come back from that place, and all other considerations paled in comparison to what I felt for him. What I feel. I love him, Sophia. I don’t think I’ve let myself say it in such bald terms before but I love him as firmly as I love you and I am as loath to let him go.”

He looked at her, then, fearing to see hurt in her eyes.

“I know, darling,” she said. “I knew that as soon as you spoke to me of him. But you must ensure that he knows that too.”

“You’re certain you can be happy with that? If I promise myself to him in the same way that I have promised myself to you?”

Sophia nodded, eyes suddenly welling up. “If Diana were here now,” she said, “and loved me the way she did when we were girls, the way I am certain James loves you… I could not force myself to choose between you. Could you be content with that?”

Francis considered. It was different from the first hypothetical Sophia had posed, he knew that, and he struggled to express how.

“I have thought… I have spent far too long thinking that love was a finite resource. I thought I had used up all mine on you, and when that proved insufficient to win you, I let anger and bitterness overtake me. And then, when I did open my heart again, it wasn’t just James, but two bloody ships’ crews that found their way in!”  


His wide-eyed indignation at the idea made Sophia’s heart glow. She knew that he had always cared for his men fiercely, but she could only imagine the strength of devotion that had allowed him to drag them through danger and death and safely home. “That was different, of course,” he added. “I mean to say, you and James have astonished me with your largesse, your willingness to take on not only me, who is burden enough, but each other as well—to be able to encompass all I hold dear. I owe it to both of you to be unstinting in return—not to ration my love as if it might be enough.”

“There you go, Captain,” Sophia said, still teary eyed but smiling, poking him affectionately in the chest. “There’s your course to follow.”

“Aye aye,” he murmured, gathering her close and feeling a weight lifted from his chest. Still, he did not entirely rest easy until the small hours of the morning, when he heard James stumble up the stairs and into his room. As long as he was home and safe, they could work on the rest together.

The next day, James rose late, utterly wrung out by too much emotion and alcohol the night before. He came to find Francis in his study, clutching a cup of tea and gratefully accepting Venus’s sympathetic head on his knee when he sat down. 

“Don’t mock me while I’m weak, Francis,” he said pre-emptively. “I’m here to apologise.”

Francis looked at his pale face and shadowed eyes with heart-rending tenderness and let James speak.

“I’m sorry for causing such a row last night. You and Sophia have been as welcoming as I could possibly have hoped, and I’m an ungrateful idiot with a list of insecurities as long as my arm.”

Francis shook his head, smiling. “False,” he said softly. “You deserve better, James, and your criticism of me was entirely justified. I hope you can forgive me, for seeking to place you and Sophia in different categories.”

James’s brow furrowed, and Francis went on, “Marriage is—it is a fraught topic between Sophia and I, and we might have been happier had we been able to avoid it altogether. And yet it is the only way, in this imperfect world, that I can make a life with her as I wish. It is a sad irony, when such a path is completely barred to you and I, as I would marry you in a heartbeat if I could.”

James’s hand stilled where it had been stroking Venus’s head, and he looked at Francis with such vulnerability in his dark eyes that Francis went to his side immediately. 

“Venus, go lie down,” Francis ordered, and the dog obediently moved to curl in her basket near the fire. “I can hardly go down on one knee beside her. That would be absurd.”

James put down his tea, still looking at him in wonderment, and something like fear. 

Francis took James’s hands. “I love you, James. I love you and wish I could declare it before the whole world. I hope it is enough for you to hear it clearly, and I will tell you every day for the rest of my life if you will let me.”

James made a choked noise and compressed his lips tightly, his eyes glowing. It took a moment before he could speak, but he didn’t have to give any thought to his answer.

“Yes. Yes, Francis. I love you. I’m utterly yours.” He hauled Francis in and kissed him over and over, on his lips and cheeks and brow, and Francis’s hands held him tightly. After several long minutes, Francis reluctantly struggled to his feet.

“That’s as much kneeling on the floor I can take. I’m not a young man.”

James couldn’t let him go for a moment, but stood to embrace Francis, fitting their bodies together so they could breathe as one. “Is this… what are we agreeing to? What does this love look like? Does Sophia know?”

Francis chuckled, drawing back to cup James’s face with one hand. “That is for us to decide together. And yes, it was Sophia who showed me what a hypocrite I was being. You should speak to her—she understands our situation better even than I knew.”

“I will return to sea, you know,” James said. Francis nodded. “It will reassure me greatly, when we’re apart, to know that you have such a one as her to care for you.”

Sophia returned from her social calls later that afternoon and poked her head into Francis’s study in search of him. She was not expecting to find her husband lying on the fur rug before the fire with Captain Fitzjames sprawled half across him, and she instantly stilled, holding her breath lest she disturb the scene. They were beautiful together, illuminated in the firelight, and she could see the corners of Francis’s eyes creased with a smile even as his mouth was occupied in very thoroughly kissing his fellow captain. One hand was buried in James’s thick hair, and James had a hand inside Francis’s undone collar, clasping his neck. 

It was Venus who betrayed her presence, rising with a pleased whine to greet her mistress. Francis and James startled apart and scrambled up from the floor. Sophia spent a moment petting the dog, allowing the two men a chance to compose themselves.

“My apologies for interrupting,” she said, fighting to keep an unladylike grin from her face, “but I take it your conversation went well?”

“James accepts my offer, Sophia!” Francis smiled as broadly as she had ever seen, and when she went to embrace him, he lifted her right off her feet. She let out a surprised squeak that immediately dissolved into laughter, as he set her back down and planted a kiss on her mouth. James was standing a little uncertainly beside him, but Francis drew him in with an arm about his waist and Sophia reached out to take both his hands. 

“I am so very pleased for you both,” she said. “I hope that you will find as much happiness with Francis as I do.”

The joy on James’s face spoke for itself.

“As long as the two of you don’t wear me out entirely,” Francis added.

“Perhaps if you took up with someone your own age—” James began, his grin turning insolent, but he was cut off by an indignant noise and a sharp kiss from Francis.

“I can hold my own against you youngsters!”

Sophia laughed again in delight, and suddenly wished for nothing more than to pull them both back to the floor and let him prove it. But she was loath to intrude on their newfound happiness and restrained herself. Instead, she gave them a few more words of congratulation and excused herself to dress for dinner.

At dinner that evening, Francis sat as usual at the head of the table with Sophia and James to either side of him. He raised his glass and James saw the question flicker across his face before he could even voice it.

“It’s Saturday,” James said.

Francis’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “How appropriate. To wives and sweethearts.” 

“And husbands,” Sophia added, looking between them. 

“Hear, hear,” James said, sounding almost choked. It had not occurred to Francis until that moment that he might refer to James in such a way, for all that he had just proposed to him. That he might have a husband as well as be one, that he might be husband to James as well as Sophia, felt like the rightest thing in the world. Francis reached across to squeeze James’s arm, and felt an answering lump rise in his throat at the love in James’s eyes.

“And husbands,” Francis repeated, raising his glass to James.

The atmosphere in the house changed after that. It was like one of the summer thunderstorms James knew from southern latitudes had swept through, leaving the air fresh and clean behind it. He did not forget Francis’s injunction to speak to Sophia, and found the opportunity when they took tea together in the parlour one afternoon while Francis was out. 

“I must thank you again for your generosity,” he began, “in inviting me here and encouraging my relationship with Francis. Not many wives would do such a thing.”

She shook her head and gave him a knowing smile. “I’m grateful that you forgave me even after I ensnared Francis in wedlock. And even more so that you forgave him.”

“I can forgive being greedy for joy after all we went through on the ice. God knows he’s earned it.”

“You both have,” she assured him.

“Francis said something about your understanding our situation?”

“Not on the ice,” she said with a smile, “but in love.”

She recounted her history with Diana, and James in turn told her of the first boy he had loved, a Brazilian dockhand with dark eyes and wiry muscles. Those stories led into others, and their respective recollections of Francis, and by the time the teapot was empty and the lamps lit they had drawn their armchairs close and were laughing together like naughty children.

“You really mean to tell me,” James said, wiping his eyes, “that you seduced him in a pond full of venomous aquatic mammals?”

“We were quite safe, not a platypus in sight!” They dissolved into laughter again.

The key rattled in the front door as Francis returned home and Sophia and James glanced at each other, wide-eyed and trying to school their faces into seriousness. He looked in to the parlour and they froze with the guilt of conspirators caught plotting.

“You may want to order more tea to your study, dear, there’s none left in here,” Sophia said, keeping her voice admirably steady.

Francis narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “If either of you are telling embarrassing stories about me—”

Sophia shook her head, wide-eyed, and James protested that he had more than enough to tell about himself. Francis rolled his eyes and left them to it, secretly delighted to see them enjoying each other’s company so.

“I’ve a meeting with the Admiralty this week,” James said, when their laughter had subsided and their conversation shifted to weightier matters once more. “I shall have to see what they intend to do with me.”

“Well,” Sophia said, “provided it’s somewhere warm, I don’t suppose I could stow away as cabin boy? I’m not looking forward to another London winter!”

Descending the stairs to breakfast one morning shortly thereafter, Sophia paused on the last step upon hearing Francis and James speaking in the dining room. 

“I must rush off, I’m already running late,” James said, and there was the scrape of a chair moving.

“And you’ll tell them, not another trip North, won’t you?”

An exasperated-sounding huff of breath. “I will tell the Admiralty most firmly, that I will not travel north of our present latitude ever again. Scotland is completely out of the question, never mind the Arctic—”

The clatter of another chair being pushed back.

“Dearest James—”

Sophia peeked in to see, as she expected, Francis pressing James close to kiss him. James held one hand out awkwardly, still clutching a marmalade-covered piece of toast, but his eyes had fallen closed and the lines on his brow relaxed. They separated, then James ducked back in, once, twice, as if he couldn’t get enough of Francis’s lips. Neither of them noticed her, but Sophia smiled, a fierce glow of sympathy and affection for both of them welling up in her. She left them to themselves, instead making herself useful fetching James’s coat. He looked surprised to find her standing waiting to help him on with it, and there was such an air of flustered pleasure lingering about him that she couldn’t resist stretching up to kiss the crease of his cheek before sending him on his way, out into the sunny morning.

Francis had returned to his breakfast and smiled at her as she joined him. “I owe you an apology,” he said when she sat down. “I didn’t truly understand the situation of a captain’s wife until now. I cannot fault you for wanting none of it.”

“And I owe you an apology,” she said softly, reaching for his hand, “for thinking that love might not be worth the cost.”

Captain James Fitzjames leaned his forearms on the balustrade of the balcony running about the great ballroom, admiring the view. It was certainly a fine sight, with the gas lamps gleaming on gold braid and epaulettes and colourful gowns, and the crowd swirling around the large dance floor to merry music. But as magnificent as the picture was, his eyes were unerringly drawn to two fair heads below. He watched as the figures of the quadrille drew them apart and then into each other’s arms again, settling against one another as though drawn by a magnetic pull. It was not too far away to see their smiles, and James thought he had never seen Francis so happy in a crowd. But he had never seen him dance before, either; the man was surprisingly light on his feet, and he and Sophia moved with a harmony that was exceedingly pleasant to observe.

“You look very thoughtful, Fitzjames,” came a voice from behind him, and he turned to see the handsome figure of Sir James Clark Ross approaching. “What occupies your mind on such a festive occasion?”

“Terrestrial magnetism,” James replied with a smile. Ross quirked an eyebrow at him, and he elaborated, “I was thinking that a quadrille provides an intriguing study in attraction and repulsion.”

Ross laughed lightly, leaning over beside him. James was still a little intimidated by the man, though they shared the singular bond of having commanded _Erebus_ through polar seas. The only difference being, that Ross had successfully brought her home again.

“I do see what you mean,” Ross replied, after watching the dance below for a minute. “And what, may I ask, is the service’s most eligible bachelor doing skulking up here on the balcony?”

James gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “I still find myself wearying, of company and exertion both, faster than I used to,” he confessed. 

Ross nodded. “I remember what a shock to the system it was to be back in England after the Antarctic. Such an overwhelming riot of noise and colour.”

And of course, he had seen the state James had been in when he led the rescue of the remaining handful of Franklin’s expedition. James supposed Ross was doing him a kindness by not referring to that now. 

“At least Francis seems to have done well for himself, at last,” Ross said, nodding down at him now leading Sophia off the floor. “You’ve been staying with them, have you not?”

“Yes. They seem very well suited.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You’ll know their history, of course, and as Frank’s oldest friend I reserve the right to fret about him.”

Ross didn’t appear to mean anything by it, but James was struck by the casual possessiveness with which he stated his prior claim. Francis was fully outfitted with wife, friends, a place in society—what possible role could James fill in his life? It was a surprising relief to see Sophia approaching them up the stairs, and after a few polite words, Ross bowed out.

“I must go and see if Ann needs rescuing. She’s too polite to refuse any dreary old admiral who might ask her to dance, and she _will_ get her toes trodden on and be miserable.”

“Always the hero, eh?” James said quietly as Ross strode off down the stairs. 

Sophia laughed as he related Ross’s concerns about Francis. “You mustn’t mind him, that’s just what he’s like.” Somehow Sophia had intuited the discomfort that lay behind his joking words, and her warm smile and keen eyes reminded him strangely of Francis. Perhaps Francis had fallen in love with her because he saw in her the kind of person he wanted to be—the kind he had become, out on the ice with everything else stripped away. 

“Now, no more brooding up here,” she went on. “Can I tempt you down for a dance?”

“You can,” he said, smiling. “I’ll feel safer with you than with the hordes of young ladies on the hunt for an eligible husband.”

“I’ll do my best to protect your honour,” she replied, with a look that had him doubting whether that was actually her intention. He would not have called her flirtatious, before, but the way she drew his gaze to her fair bosom, framed in flowers and lace—he must be imagining things. He was always one to muddle up the intimacy of friendship with attraction and it made him cautious. More likely that he had never had such a comradely relationship with a woman before and did not know what to make of it. In an effort to change the subject, he turned to look upon the dance floor again, the lines of ladies stepping forward only to be chased back by the gentlemen, before ducking away under their arched arms. 

“It’s almost a novelty for a sailor to see so many ladies at a ball, you know. On board ship we have to make do as best we can, and it’s a many time I’ve taken the ladies’ part.”

“Indeed?” She arched an eyebrow and he abruptly remembered that she knew enough to construe that he wasn’t just talking about dancing. But she took pity and went on. “When my friends and I used to practice new dances together, as girls, I always liked being the gentleman. I never get to now, of course. I’ve made Francis attempt following, but he will insist on throwing his weight about.”

“I can well imagine!”

They laughed together and he thought again how beautiful she was. She consulted her dance card. “The next is a waltz, if you will do me the honour?”

“With pleasure.”

As they took up their positions on the floor, James realised that he had never been so close to Sophia before. They had existed, for the past weeks, in a strange domestic intimacy, circling about one another in Francis's orbit like attendant planets. Their eyes had many times met in gazing affection at him. But it was new and thrilling to place a hand about her waist, to feel the steel underlying the smooth silk, and the warmth of her hand through thin kid gloves. He remembered how Francis’s hands looked on her waist and how they had wandered. 

At the thought, James glanced up to where Francis stood near the edge of the dance floor. He was watching them and there was an intensity to his gaze and the hint of pink about his ears that James associated with more intimate moments. Before he could think too much about it, however, the music started and his feet took over. Sophia was light in his arms, and a graceful dancer. 

When James murmured, “Now, let me show you what they’re doing on the Continent,” she followed the variation with ease, quickly catching on to the steps of the Redowa waltz.

Despite their earlier conversation, it still took him by surprise when Sophia asked, “Shall we change roles, then?”

She freed her right hand to place it about his waist, without breaking step, and James fumbled slightly to rearrange his hands, trying not to crush the delicate trim about her shoulders as he rested a hand there. Sophia gave him a questioning look, and his hand a squeeze, and he consciously relaxed and let her take the metaphorical helm. She rocked them back and forth a few steps in time with the music to get them back on the beat, then led him back into the slow circle about the floor.

“I’m afraid you’ll still have to keep an eye out for collisions,” she said, “as I can’t see over your shoulder. It’s the one difficulty with this arrangement.”

James nodded his assent, focusing on letting his body be listening and responsive rather than taking the lead. Sophia’s hand was firm on his back, and her slight figure supported and guided him. It was a guilty pleasure of his, being led in a dance, and if she was prepared to be unconventional in the midst of London society, then he was perfectly happy to join in. If only he could dance like this with Francis. That would be perfection.

“I think we must have a dance of our own, some evening,” Sophia said, uncannily echoing his thoughts. “I can play passably enough, and then you can see what a good dancer Francis is, though he’d never admit to it.”

“I should like that very much.”

“And I shall have to ask him if you’re as skilled in other areas as you are in dancing.”

Sophia’s voice was low, but James still glanced about in embarrassment before realising that they were isolated in their own turning bubble, as private on the crowded floor as if they were alone. No wonder their parents’ generation had disapproved of the waltz.

Before he had the chance to respond, the music ended and they were bowing and resuming their appointed roles as he led her back to where Francis stood. He seemed to give Sophia a questioning look, to which she merely smiled and raised an eyebrow back at him. James suddenly thought of Gawain and the Green Knight, and knew that whatever attentions Sophia might choose to bestow on him, he would gladly give to Francis in return. 

Without releasing James’s arm, Sophia took hold of Francis’s, and steered them both towards the refreshments. “I think I’m the envy of every lady here right now,” she whispered, and James couldn’t help the warm glow in his chest at the simple gesture. 

The curtains were drawn in the parlour upon their return home, and the fire blazing, casting the corners of the room into shadow while illuminating the centre with an orange glow. James had begun to feel a little guilty about the direction his thoughts were taking regarding his hostess, so when Sophia went to send the servants to bed, he took the opportunity to speak plainly. He stepped closer to Francis, biting his cheek anxiously in anticipation of the matter he was about to broach.

“Francis, I must make a confession. I’m afraid I’m starting to feel a little… bewitched by Sophia. I didn’t realise that would be a danger of living in such close proximity, but rest assured I will not act on it, and can remove myself if need be. I didn’t think it right not to tell you.”

Francis smiled warmly and reached for James’s hand. “She did discuss the matter with me before turning the full force of her charms on you. You have my blessing.”

James’s expression battled between relief, amusement, and indignation. “You might have mentioned something to me about it!”

“I was curious to see how long you could resist her.” Francis’s mischievous expression was met by a questioning eyebrow from James. “About twelve hours, as it turned out.”

James dropped his face into his palm, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. 

Francis drew him into his arms, dropping kisses on his half-hidden face. “You are the two dearest people in the world to me, and nothing would give me more joy than to see you love one another as well.”

Sophia returned, crossing the room to them, and Francis drew her close into their embrace.

“This may be madness,” James said, still holding back from touching her. “I have no wish to interfere with your marriage—” 

“Our marriage,” Sophia reminded him softly, “nearly came between you and Francis. If you can forgive me that, I can certainly forgive _your_ interference.” Her eyes flickered from James’s face to Francis’s, bright with intent.

“Permission to kiss your wife, Francis?” James enquired.

Francis chuckled. “My wife does what she damn well pleases,” he said, and indeed, Sophia already had her hands on James’s shoulders, and he dipped his head to meet her with more enthusiasm than he would have thought possible a month prior. For all her slight figure and soft lips, she conveyed an air of confidence that he gladly submitted to, parting his lips as she pressed closer. James felt Francis’s hand settle over Sophia’s, and their fingers tangled. 

Sophia gasped, and James opened his eyes to see Francis bending his mouth to her neck. A few heady moments later, Francis reached for James. Sophia tipped her head back against Francis’s shoulder and twined her fingers in James’s hair as the two of them kissed, their hands meeting around her waist.

It was Francis who broke the silence of heavy breaths and sliding lips. “I would almost believe it possible, at this moment, for present happiness to balance out past suffering,” he said, and James, who knew just how much suffering there had been, pressed a sharp kiss to his lips. 

Then Sophia drew herself up to whisper in James’s ear, loud enough for Francis to shiver at it, “Show me what you do to him. Show me how you make him moan.”

James grinned, and broke apart their cluster of bodies to lead Francis to sit on the settee, kneeling in front of him. Francis registered both James’s hands on his buttons, and Sophia settling beside him, pulling up her skirts in a rustle of silk. Reminded of the early days of their courtship, he ran a hand up her leg, feeling past starched ruffles and damp-creased cotton for her soft hair and softer skin. The combined sensation of her swollen slick flesh against his fingers, and James’s hot mouth wrapping around his cock was nearly too much to bear. He glanced down, brushing James’s hair out of his face, and James looked up through his lashes, letting the head of Francis’s prick rest against his lower lip.

“You bloody love having an audience, don’t you, you hedonist,” Francis murmured hoarsely. James flicked his tongue in response and Francis twitched.

“A very appreciative one, I assure you,” Sophia said. Francis could practically hear her taking mental notes. She had braced her arm along the back of the sofa, kneeling so she could rock against Francis’s hand. James’s answering laugh vibrated around Francis’s cock and his head fell back, his legs parting further unconsciously. Francis tried to time the thrust of his fingers inside Sophia to the motion of James’s mouth, and she kissed him with her eyes half open, watching as James sucked him off.

Francis’s hand moved faster as he neared his climax, Sophia gripping his shoulder hard. He felt her clench around his fingers just before he lost control, spilling into James’s mouth. 

“Bed?” Sophia suggested, as soon as both had regained their breath. Francis slowly disentangled himself, offering James a hand to help him up and stretching out his back.

“Yes please,” he said, “I’m too old for this fucking-on-sofas nonsense.”

Once upstairs, they all disrobed, Francis unlacing the back of Sophia’s gown so she could loosen her petticoats and wiggle the whole mass down to the floor in a slowly-deflating cloud. She dislodged the wreath from her hair and fished out the remaining pins with practiced efficiency, setting her jewels beside them on the dressing table with nary a glace as she watched Francis pull the shirt over James’s head and run his hands down his bare chest. She had yet to see her fill of the two of them kissing; they had been discreet, these past weeks, and while she was now accustomed to the idea of Francis loving someone else, the reality was more enthralling than she ever would have guessed. 

Perhaps there was something proprietary in her desire to seduce James. She had for so long regarded Francis as hers, rightly or wrongly, that the only way to avoid jealousy now was to draw his lover into their circle as well. It didn’t hurt that she liked him a great deal: he was exceedingly good-looking, and there was a sweetness and vulnerability about him that she found appealing. From what she could gather, this was more or less Francis’s doing. She recalled an over-confident and vacuously charming Fitzjames from a handful of formal occasions before the expedition, and he bore little resemblance to the man whom her husband was currently divesting of his trousers. 

She stepped forward to kiss James again while Francis was thus occupied, loosening the laces of her corset behind her back. When she had unclasped it, James drew her chemise over her head, and gently touched the pink creases that had been pressed into her skin by the pressure of the corset. 

Sophia drew James with her to the bed, giving an impatient tug to Francis’s remaining clothing as she passed. He understood the silent order well, and quickly stripped, enjoying the spectacle of James and Sophia sprawled together with their hands all over each other, light hair and dark tangling together on the pillow. 

Francis hardly knew where to begin, but Sophia, as usual, had a plan. She rolled James onto his back and straddled him, and Francis’s breath caught at the sight of her sinking onto James’s cock. He came to kneel behind her, cupping and pinching her breasts the way she liked and pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck, all the while unable to tear his eyes from James’s flushed face.

There was much that was familiar—Sophia’s smooth bare back against his chest, the broken way that James gasped out his pleasure—but the combination of these sensations was entirely novel. It was different, too, to experience their urgency while feeling entirely sated himself. If he were a younger man, Francis certainly would have been hard again at such a sight, but it was enough to be a party to it. 

“Put your fingers in his mouth,” he rumbled in Sophia’s ear. “He likes that.”

Sophia let out a breathy moan and James caught his lip between his teeth, only releasing it against the press of Sophia’s slender fingers. Francis could feel the slow, luxurious roll of her hips as she teased at James’s mouth, making him beg with arched throat and impatient nips of his teeth. Francis marvelled at her control, and how utterly debauched James looked, open-mouthed and desperate.

“You’re a wonder, the both of you,” Francis said, and Sophia hummed agreement. 

When Sophia’s fingers were sucked wet, she withdrew them in order to press them against her clit, and James cursed softly. Francis moved his hand to join hers, then lower to feel James’s shaft sliding into her wetness against his fingertips. It was exquisite. Sophia grasped his hand to hold it exactly where she wanted it, and he helped support her weight as she moved against both of them with her entire body, head tipped back and panting inarticulate encouragement until she shuddered violently, over and over.

In the brief pause as she collected herself, Francis thought of something else he could do with his now-dripping fingers. Sophia looked round to see what had prompted James’s sudden moan, kissed Francis sloppily over her shoulder, then shifted her weight forward so that James could tilt his hips up to meet Francis’s fingers pressing into his tight hole. She peppered James’s chest and neck with kisses as he panted encouragement.

“Oh god yes, Francis, there, yes, don’t stop, yes!”

The litany spilling from James’s lips was such a familiar one that Sophia would have laughed, if she had any breath left for it. Instead, it was all she could do to brace herself as he thrust frantically into her, until he finally spent with a long broken groan.

They all three disentangled and collapsed together, trading breathless, grinning, kisses as their shaking muscles relaxed. Sophia curled against James’s chest, and Francis settled on his other side.

“Remember the stars, James?” Francis asked after a time, breaking a long and contented silence. “At night, when the ships were still sailing. Thousands of them.”

“Mmm.” Sophia could feel James’s hummed agreement resonate against her ear. “And the aroura- I’ve never seen the like. I couldn’t tear myself away from watching it, at first, even when my nose was going numb.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose it!” Francis reached up to tap James’s long nose teasingly, and Sophia smiled. They were both trying to give her a glimpse into their world, what beauty could be had amidst the bleakness, and she was intensely grateful.

They fell into companionable silence again for a while, until James suddenly tensed and half sat up, disrupting both his bed-mates.

“What’s the matter?” Francis asked, shaking off his sleepiness.

“Sophia,” James said, looking stricken. “I didn’t take any precautions—I’m so unused to being with a woman, I didn’t think. Are you—good God, I don’t want to repeat my father’s mistakes.”

Sophia endeavoured to soothe him with a gentling hand to his chest, where she could feel his heart racing in panic. “Shh, shh, it’s all right, James. Francis and I haven’t— _taken precautions_ —since the wedding. It’s been, what, six months? Long enough, and nothing has come of it. I’m past five-and-thirty, you know, so I expect I’m too old.”

James nodded, slowly relaxing, with the help of Francis’s soothing touch on his other side.

“In any case,” Francis said, “you are nothing like your father. This is a union sanctioned by the three of us, if no one else. If a child did result, it would be a loved and wanted one. You need not fear.”

Sophia nodded in agreement, and James slumped back against the pillow, pulling her close to kiss her brow, and then Francis’s hand, in gratitude.

James opened his eyes the next morning to an excellent view of Sophia’s soft breasts, and was lying in pleasant languor and contemplating touching them when Francis stirred from her other side. The sight of his rumpled hair, freckled shoulders, and confused frown made James fall a little in love with him all over again.

“You’ve moved,” Francis said, sounding put out.

“Well, I woke up in the night feeling desperately overheated, trapped on both sides, and needing to piss,” James responded, voice pitched low so as not to disturb Sophia. “You didn’t notice me climbing over you?”

“Ah, I thought that must have been an unnaturally large spider from the number of elbows and knees stuck into me.”

Francis grinned, and, blocked from better retaliation, James merely stuck his tongue out in childish retort. Francis reached out for him, and James pushed himself up to lean across the slender body between them and kiss him sweet and slow. 

“Insolent. Rude. Terrible,” he murmured against Francis’s lips. There was happiness buzzing under his skin, a giddiness at everything falling into place. They had gotten away with the impossible. Then there were more hands on him than he expected, and they both looked down at Sophia, who was blinking awake and smiling up at them.

“This is a lovely awakening,” she said. “Don’t mind me, just carry on.”

It took a little effort to convince them that she was serious, and then she curled happily on her side with a hand between her thighs to watch them together. There was a palpable intensity between them, in the way their lips sought each other again and again. Francis gathered James up in his arms, and James pressed closer, as if they could not permit even air between them.

“Let me have you, Francis?” James asked breathlessly, and Francis nodded eagerly.

“I need to get—” James began to get up but Francis held him with a hand on his arm.

“Bedside table. In the drawer.”

James looked between Francis and Sophia in some surprise and Francis raised a challenging eyebrow back at him before James rolled over to retrieve the bottle of oil from its place. 

Francis shifted to the centre of the bed as James curled behind him, and reached out for Sophia. She relented, moving closer to stroke his length slowly and let him kiss his moans into her mouth as James prepared him. 

“Ready?” James asked, and Francis nodded. “Up, then,” he said with an encouraging pat to Francis’s bottom.

Francis whined when Sophia withdrew her hand and mouth, but eagerly shifted to knees and elbows for James, keening as he pressed inside.

“Francis. Francis.” James’s deep voice had a desperate edge to it as he curled over Francis’s broad back, dropping kisses across his shoulders, shallowly rocking his hips into him. He glanced over to Sophia and gasped at the sight of her sliding her fingers between her legs in the same rhythm. “God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled, grasping Francis’s hips as he increased his pace.

It was strange, Sophia thought, that an act capable of producing such exquisite sensations should appear so undignified, but she was far too preoccupied with pleasure to linger long on such objective considerations. She could barely see Francis’s face, buried in the pillow, but his brow was creased as if in pain, and he was uttering beautiful breathy pants, his cock swollen and red and bouncing untouched as James rode him. 

She curled her fingers inside herself and watched the play of James’s muscles with each thrust, the concentration on his face. Profanity and praise fell from his mouth, and Sophia shivered and clenched against her hand as his body curled tight. He pounded into Francis for a few more desperate moments before arching into his climax with a silent shout on his lips. When he pulled out a moment later, Francis flopped onto his back, and James had barely wrapped a hand around his cock before he, too, was coming hard, legs trembling and eyes screwed shut. 

When all three had recovered their breath a little, James, ever the gentleman, looked to Sophia. “Are you all right? Do you need—?”

She shook her head, laughing shakily. “No, I’m all right. I came about three times just watching you.”

“Christ, Sophia.” Francis let his head drop to one side to look at her, as if the rest of his body was not yet capable of movement. She scooted over to wrap herself around his side, as James settled on the other, and their hands clasped one another’s over Francis’s heart.

So James stayed. Gradually, the spare room filled up with his possessions. He acquired a key to the front door, and issued instructions for his post to be delivered to the Croziers’ Greenwich address for the foreseeable future. He would go to sea again, and their arms would be open to welcome him home on his return. 

One of his greatest pleasures, James found, was being brought into not just their bed, but the whole encircling intimacy of domestic life. He could push open their bedroom door, as on this particular evening, and find Sophia relaxing in her bath in the corner while Francis lay propped up on pillows in his dressing gown, reading. 

James wandered across the room, his bare feet sinking into plush carpet, and kissed Sophia’s head before settling on the bed beside Francis. Francis reached out a hand to absent-mindedly stroke his hair as he lay down with his journal, and James could think of nothing to write but the words of Keats that kept circling in his mind. There was nothing with which to equate this love but with the wonder of discovery.

_Then felt I like some watcher of the skies  
When a new planet swims into his ken;  
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes  
He stared at the Pacific—and all his men  
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise—  
Silent, upon a peak in Darien._

**Author's Note:**

> The title and quoted lines are from John Keats, 'On First Looking into Chapman's Homer'.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [@anadequatesir](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/anadequatesir)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


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